


Irish Coffee

by chzo_mythos



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, teenage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 02:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chzo_mythos/pseuds/chzo_mythos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian meets Jim in a coffee shop and thinks he's a prat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Irish Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> Mormor, getting coffee (without knowing each other, as teens) 
> 
> so i did it

Seb hates places like this. Pretentious, full of kids in too tight jeans and fucking cardigans, with shitty overpriced beverages that are too bogged down by creams and syrups to even be considered coffee anymore. But he’d had to run to the shops real quick to buy a book for his mum, and after dealing with an incompetent gum-snapping worker, the book being out of stock anyway, and a too fast-cab driving past him and through a puddle, soaking him up to the collar bone, he needed a fucking coffee. And a cigarette. And maybe a shotgun. But, first, coffee. 

The chime of the bell above his door sounds like screaming in his ears and he has to suppress a groan. He goes to the counter, orders his coffee (“Black, tall. No, vente? What the hell does vente even mean? Just some fucking coffee, okay?!”), takes it from the shaking hand of the baristo, pays, and finds a table wedged in the corner. He stares out the window and absently sips at his beverage—surprisingly not shit per say, but he could make better that’s for sure. He barely notices when another cup is set on the table across from him. He does, however, hear the sound of chair legs scratching over tile and his head snaps up. Tight jeans, loafers, cardigan, disheveled hair that is just too perfect that he had to have spent at least ten minutes spiking and unspiking. His drink, Sebastian notices, is frothy and caramel scented. 

“Saw your little outburst” the stranger says—no, fucking sing-songs, with a vague Irish lilt as he sits. “Thought you could use a friend.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “The fuck you want, kid? I don’t need no friend.” 

The kid laughs, a honey-sweet and bitter sounding noise, throwing his head back in an almost tutting fashion. “I’m not a kid, we’re in some of the same classes.”

Sebastian narrows his eyes, giving the kid a once over before it hits him. Moriarty, some little snot-nosed shit that skipped a few levels and is in Sebastian’s chemistry class. Instead of that, he says, 

“Oh—you’re the suit kid.” Really, he just wore the full uniform, but it was still remarkable considering every other student decided to forego the blazer of their uniform, some even swapping out their dress shoes for trainers and trying to sneak them by. 

The Irishman laughs again and takes a sip of his drink, deliberately licking foam from his lips in a way that makes Sebastian’s skin both tingle and crawl. “Jim Moriarty” he says with a small nod and a grin. Sebastian rolls his eyes again. 

“That’s great, get lost.”

Jim laughs a third time and shakes his head. “Oh, Sebastian. I’m going to have fun with you.”

Sebastian furrows his brows and leans forward slightly, one hand curling in to a fist against his thigh. 

“How did you know my name?”

Jim grins, stands up, and takes his drink. 

“See you in chemistry.” And then he’s gone. 

Sebastian glares after him, blinks, downs the rest of his drink, and sighs. Pretentious little shit.


End file.
